Clumsy dancer, I
The two left feet that define my life
My time upon this dance floor
Stumbling, laughing
A joyous dance from cradle to grave
Each dance ends, we clap for more
Whirling and twirling
instep, out of step, lovers and fiends
For just to dance is the thing
No wall flower allowed
Together we drift on the rhythm
Let us raise our voices, sing!
Clumsy musician, I
Fingers play on unfamiliar string
Still these songs so sweetly ring
Sopping, restarting
a hesitant melody
To this, our voices give wing
We sing many songs
Aria here, a child's ditty there
Our note and sound harmonize
Stanza and chorus
all blending to one perfect note
All our songs, we synthesize
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Pieta - Rome 2001
The Pieta - Rome 2001
I wrote this after seeing Michelangelo's Pieta.. one of the most beautiful carvings I have ever seen.. and as a parent, I was struck by it. Not by it's religious significance, but by what the parent of jesus must have felt.
Poor woman, Chosen of God
Chosen to a suspected birth
Chosen to flee the killer of children
Chosen to live in a foreign land
Chosen to wonder at the son who was more than your own
Chosen to watch the unfolding of his mysterious destiny
Chosen to feel the press of crowds, needy crowds
Chosen to hear as he spoke dangerous words
Chosen to fear, fear for his safety
Chosen to pity, as he wept tears of blood
Chosen to watch as he bore the cruel lash
Chosen to feel each strike of hammer to nail
Chosen to be helpless in the presence of death
Chosen to bear, once more, his body, to the ground
Chosen to mourn over your beloved child
Chosen above women
to suffer
"My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?"
"Why have you chosen me?"
I wrote this after seeing Michelangelo's Pieta.. one of the most beautiful carvings I have ever seen.. and as a parent, I was struck by it. Not by it's religious significance, but by what the parent of jesus must have felt.
Poor woman, Chosen of God
Chosen to a suspected birth
Chosen to flee the killer of children
Chosen to live in a foreign land
Chosen to wonder at the son who was more than your own
Chosen to watch the unfolding of his mysterious destiny
Chosen to feel the press of crowds, needy crowds
Chosen to hear as he spoke dangerous words
Chosen to fear, fear for his safety
Chosen to pity, as he wept tears of blood
Chosen to watch as he bore the cruel lash
Chosen to feel each strike of hammer to nail
Chosen to be helpless in the presence of death
Chosen to bear, once more, his body, to the ground
Chosen to mourn over your beloved child
Chosen above women
to suffer
"My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?"
"Why have you chosen me?"
What hands? peru 2005
What Hands
tediously rubbed
endlessly shaped
Grudgingly lifted
living stone
into jogsaw patterns
surviving earthquake
Outliving empires
weathering centuries
that I might
travel mountainous miles
stare, open mouthed
marvel at the skill
to ponder
What hands?
tediously rubbed
endlessly shaped
Grudgingly lifted
living stone
into jogsaw patterns
surviving earthquake
Outliving empires
weathering centuries
that I might
travel mountainous miles
stare, open mouthed
marvel at the skill
to ponder
What hands?
enlightenment - 1995
enlightenment - 1995
How many times, at the place of the skull
Have I pounded in the nail
To No avail
How many times did you cross the desert
Attempting to flee
From me?
Was it I who fed the spoiled food
Dousing the light
of an enlightened one?
As I pass these ages
of enlightenment,
of visitation
of revaluation
twnety-nine
Thirty-three, Thirty-nine
I await mine.
How many times, at the place of the skull
Have I pounded in the nail
To No avail
How many times did you cross the desert
Attempting to flee
From me?
Was it I who fed the spoiled food
Dousing the light
of an enlightened one?
As I pass these ages
of enlightenment,
of visitation
of revaluation
twnety-nine
Thirty-three, Thirty-nine
I await mine.
Time, that damn thief - feb 1994
Time, that damn thief - feb 1994
Time, that damn thief!
I feel nothing out of the ordinary, until I look
That mirror distorts the me I remember so well
Oh, I am still there
But there are additions to the familiar me
Lines and thinner wisps of hair, distortions
Is it a cuurse that i feel no different
than the thirteen thousand- five hundred days before?
each day I see them, beautiful with youth and promise
Bustling, unaware of the thief that lurks nearby
I hear them, echoes in the hallway,
squeaky clean with newness and unrevealed futures
My Ashley, I envy the fierce potential that burns within you
A Bright star, often I shade my eyes at your approach
What you are, what you are becoming,
Exciting in its prospect, Hopeful in its myriad of opportunity
Have I faded?
Not even to burn out brightly
in a flash of supernova?
But to fade
In a cooling of fear, caution and regret?
Dimming slowly, but surely in safe comfort?
I think the mirror may lie.
Will I choose to believe it? Or will I choose to squint, to peer inside?
Time, that damn thief!
I feel nothing out of the ordinary, until I look
That mirror distorts the me I remember so well
Oh, I am still there
But there are additions to the familiar me
Lines and thinner wisps of hair, distortions
Is it a cuurse that i feel no different
than the thirteen thousand- five hundred days before?
each day I see them, beautiful with youth and promise
Bustling, unaware of the thief that lurks nearby
I hear them, echoes in the hallway,
squeaky clean with newness and unrevealed futures
My Ashley, I envy the fierce potential that burns within you
A Bright star, often I shade my eyes at your approach
What you are, what you are becoming,
Exciting in its prospect, Hopeful in its myriad of opportunity
Have I faded?
Not even to burn out brightly
in a flash of supernova?
But to fade
In a cooling of fear, caution and regret?
Dimming slowly, but surely in safe comfort?
I think the mirror may lie.
Will I choose to believe it? Or will I choose to squint, to peer inside?
a glass of Wine - Venice Italy 2001 -
a glass of Wine - Venice Italy 2001 -
Let it not be said
these grapes were grown in vain
I drank deeply of their nectar
and I do so once again
A golden hue of mountain grape
Swirls quietly in this cup
Sidewalk cafe, venetian night
canal boats glide as I sup
Swarthy men in dark black curl
Tall dark ladies float along
The evening airs caress my brow
with melody of minstrels song
The chatter of an unknown tongue
The joyous sounds of drink
Another world, another time
Into this, with every sip, I slowly slowly sink
Let it not be said
these grapes were grown in vain
I drank deeply of their nectar
and I do so once again
A golden hue of mountain grape
Swirls quietly in this cup
Sidewalk cafe, venetian night
canal boats glide as I sup
Swarthy men in dark black curl
Tall dark ladies float along
The evening airs caress my brow
with melody of minstrels song
The chatter of an unknown tongue
The joyous sounds of drink
Another world, another time
Into this, with every sip, I slowly slowly sink
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The flight home ( China 2001)
And, I am changed again
molded with each experience
shaped
formed
smoothed
And I am changed again
shaped by the potter's hands
places
persons
odors
And I am changed again
reshaped and reshaping by
family
friends
strangers
As liquid conforms to the vessel
as clay responds to the hand
flowing
shifting
growing
and I am changed again
and again and again and again
molded with each experience
shaped
formed
smoothed
And I am changed again
shaped by the potter's hands
places
persons
odors
And I am changed again
reshaped and reshaping by
family
friends
strangers
As liquid conforms to the vessel
as clay responds to the hand
flowing
shifting
growing
and I am changed again
and again and again and again
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
